


Marbula One

by tidal (fluorescencx)



Category: Jelle's Marble Runs (Web Series)
Genre: Marble League, Marble Lore, Marbula One, Multi, Rival Relationship, Rivalry, Secret Relationship, how that translates is honestly never specified so don't expect answers there, i give these marbles so much backstory it's kind of ridiculous, marble racing except they're human, team drama everywhere
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:34:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28133265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fluorescencx/pseuds/tidal
Summary: The League is as much about drama and politics as it is about racing, it turns out. With sibling rivalries, secret romances, sworn enemies and a championship to win, none of these racers have signed up for an easy race.Featuring: easily flustered Hazy, whipped Smoggy, Clementin and Speedy sneaking around, Mary in the midst of a quarter-life crisis, Misty crushing on Vespa, and a ton of racing.Welcome to Marbula One, Season One: everything that Greg Woods didn't tell you.
Relationships: Clementin/Speedy, Wospy/Hazy
Comments: 7
Kudos: 9





	1. Savage Speedway

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes... sometimes you have to do things yourself.
> 
> So I wrote this damn fic.

Hazy filed off the track with the rest of the racers after qualifying, heading toward where Smoggy was waiting on the sidelines. Hazy’s teammate clasped his shoulder when he stopped next to him, turning to squint at the leaderboard and still panting slightly. 

“Ninth?” he breathed.

“Ninth,” Smoggy confirmed, nodding.

Hazy pulled off his helmet and set it at his feet, tearing his hands through his matted hair. Ninth wasn’t good enough. It wasn’t _nearly_ good enough. This was the Savage Speedway, a track that’s all wide turns and straights--it might as well have been _made_ for Hazy.

_Ninth?_

“Damn,” he breathed, shaking his head again.

“Hey,” Smoggy said, pulling Hazy’s attention to him. “Middle of the pack isn’t a bad place to be.” He smirked, then, shaking Hazy’s shoulder a little bit and pointing back up toward the leaderboard. “At least we didn’t land basement on our own track.”

Squinting, Hazy finally made out the team name in spot sixteen. _Savage Speeders._ Hazy did smile a little at that. “That does feel good,” he admitted as Smoggy grinned at him.

“That’s my boy! We’ll get em’ at the race tomorrow.”

But Hazy’s mind was already straying from the most disliked team in the league, his eyes wandering across the track to the pair of dark-suited racers opposite them. Wispy and Wospy were standing beside their coach, grinning and jostling each other with their elbows. Hazy wasn’t surprised at their elation despite qualifying two spots below even the Hazers. Their largest rivalry was with the Speeders, after winning Marble League 2018 with only one point on them. Most teams had at least one reason to dislike the Speeders, but the Wisps had more than most.

Greg Woods was commentating highlights of the race and Hazy wasn’t paying as much attention to him as he probably should have been, and at that moment Wospy turned his head, scanning the sidelines until his gaze landed squarely on Hazy’s. Hazy tried to avert his gaze without making it too obvious that he’d been staring, but didn’t think he succeeded.

“Where’s Coach?” he asked Smoggy, turning toward him instead and pushing the Wisp from his mind.

“Hell if I know,” Smoggy laughed a little bitterly. Hazy bit his lip, tossing an arm over his teammate’s shoulder and electing not to respond. It wasn’t exactly unusual for their coach to disappear right before races-- _‘consistently inconsistent’_ Foggy always said--but that somehow didn’t make it easier. And of course Smoggy was more attached to Coach Smokey than the rest of the team, although nobody could really blame him. Smoggy’s origin was… different than the rest of theirs.

Somewhere to the left he heard the Speeders’ coach start in on them. “Yikes,” Smoggy commented idly, although he didn’t sound exactly regretful. “Wouldn’t wanna be Speedy right now.”

“Clementin,” Hazy called as the O’rangers filed past them, grinning in total elation and probably quite a bit of leftover adrenaline. The man turned toward Hazy’s voice, looking a bit anxious. Orangin, walking beside her sibling with their elbows hooked together, looked guarded. “Good racing,” Hazy congratulated them.

Both their faces seemed to melt into relief. “You too,” Clementin grinned back at Hazy.

The O’rangers were one of the oldest teams, dating all the way back to the Fruit Circuit, and as far as Hazy could tell they really were just five siblings that loved to race. They avoided the politics and drama of the League expertly, but they were one of the best, and the best always got targeted. Hazy liked to believe his team was above all of that, though.

“Can’t wait to race against y’all tomorrow,” Orangin added with a wink before tugging her brother away.

\-------

Wospy could tell that Wispy was struggling with where she qualified but trying very hard to keep up a positive facade. That wasn’t unlike her, really. The entire team could see she’d been harder on herself since they took Gold in the League in 2018. The pressure upped her expectations of herself and she’d been ruthless ever since.

Wospy wasn’t good with comforting. He wasn’t good at emotions in general, really--they had always spooked him. So instead of trying to comfort he coaxed Wispy into laughing at the Speeders’ poor performance and elected to wait until the rest of the team could comfort their captain.

Anyway, Wopsy was distracted.

He didn’t know if he could actually _feel_ Hazy’s gaze on him or if at this point he’d just become so accustomed to finding those grey eyes on him that he’d started to expect them, but one way or another he caught Hazy in the act, just like he always had. Hazy, for whatever reason, was always looking at Wospy. And Wospy, well. Wospy was looking right back, wasn’t he?

Could he be blamed? Hazy was a fierce racer--a difficult man to look away from, to be sure.

And anyway, Hazy was always the one doing the looking away. For all his staring he was very poor at maintaining eye contact, and even poorer at holding conversation. Every time Wospy had tried to pull the Hazers’ captain into conversation he’d found a way to sneak away, usually pulling a weak excuse and darting into the nearest throng of bodies. He used his short stature as a weapon of war, really.

“Don’t take it personally,” Wuspy had told him the first time it happened at the 2018 League Qualifiers, “from what I’ve heard the Hazers pretty much keep to themselves.”

“Why?” Wospy had asked, brows furrowed as he searched the throng of heads for Hazy’s lilac hair.

“Who knows?”

Wespy had cut in: “Who knows anything about the Hazers? None of them will say jack shit about their origins, and it isn’t like they _talk_ to anyone.”

Wospy had hummed noncommittally at that, deciding then that he wanted to learn all he could about the team and their captain. _Especially_ their captain. But every time he’d managed to approach the man since he’d darted away or blurted out an excuse or turned spectacularly red before fleeing the scene, so Wospy had had no such luck.

“Qualifiers don’t mean shit,” Wospy said to his captain as their coach began to steer them toward the exit. “Don’t beat yourself up when there’s still an entire race tomorrow.”

“You’re right,” Wispy sighed. “I know you’re right.”

“The team will say the same,” he reassured her, “just wait.”

Of course at that moment a lilac head of hair chose to appear in Wospy’s vision, and all of his attention was immediately diverted to Hazy. This was, unfortunately, a very common occurrence. He pressed forward through the crowd that had formed, trying to reach Hazy and Smoggy before they disappeared from the track entirely, leaving his teammate and coach in the dust.

“Hey!” he called out, and one of them froze. Not Hazy, but his teammate. Smoggy, was it? He turned, grinning at the sight of Wospy pushing through the crowd and grabbing Hazy’s elbow to stop him in place. Wospy had probably just imagined Hazy picking up his pace. Then again, maybe not.

“Hey, Wosp,” the teammate--yes, it was Smoggy--greeted him loudly. “Nice job at qualifiers!”

“Er- thanks,” Wospy responded awkwardly. He had come to talk to _Hazy,_ not his teammate. “I didn’t race, though.”

“Of course not,” Smoggy grinned, taking this in stride. “Hey, neither did I! Hazy did, isn’t that right Haze?”

The man still didn’t turn and Wospy rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “Um. Good race, Hazy.”

The returned “Thanks” came as more of a squeak than anything, and in the next second Hazy had pulled himself from his teammate’s grasp and disappeared. Smoggy was grinning somewhat maniacally as he turned back to Wospy.

“Sorry about him. Truly a disaster, that one.” Then he disappeared after his counterpart, leaving Wospy staring somewhat dazedly at the spot they’d both been standing.

\-------

Hazy and Smoggy reunited with their team at the hotel, filling them in on qualifiers as they all gathered at the hotel bar. Hazy wasn’t drinking--he never drank the night before a race--but the rest of the team was well past tipsy. Foggy was well on his way to wasted.

“Ninth ain’t bad at all!” he exclaimed, and Hazy wondered if he knew he was shouting. “You can make it to gold from ninth _easy._ ‘Specially with all those straights? You’ll be fine, Haze.”

The rest of the team agreed with various amounts of slur to their words, and Hazy couldn’t help but grin back at them. He loved his team.

“Hey,” he asked, “are there any other teams staying here?”

While the Marble League always covered room and board for the teams, putting them all up in one hotel and letting them stay for the entire season, Marbula One was a different location every week, and as such the company wasn’t covering board. This resulted in each team staying wherever they could get a reservation that fit their price range.

“Could of sworn I saw Vespa earlier, but Cloudy says I’m seeing things,” Misty announced a bit drunkenly.

“No, I said you were fantasizing,” Cloudy snickered in response. Misty punched her in the shoulder, nearly knocking her off the barstool in the process.

“So… Hornets or no Hornets?” Hazy clarified.

“No Hornets,” Misty sighed.

“No Vespa,” Cloudy mimicked her tone, looking exaggeratedly forlorn. Misty punched her again.

“Who are _you_ hoping to see?” Smoggy asked Hazy with a grin. Hazy glared at him with as much spite as he could muster.

“No one in particular,” Hazy retorted. He tried not to sound defensive, but by the interested look Foggy shot him he wasn’t sure he quite succeeded. “I’m headed to bed early,” he announced, steering the subject in another direction. “I need to be rested if I’m going to jump eight spots tomorrow.”

“That you do!” Foggy agreed cheerfully, clapping Hazy on the back as he stood.

“I want all of you out of this bar by midnight,” he said, adopting his captain voice. “If you aren’t sober by the time Smoggy and I head out tomorrow we’re leaving you at the hotel.”

“Aye aye, Cap,” Foggy agreed. 

“And get Fog some water,” Hazy told Cloudy, rolling his eyes. 

\--------

Coach Smokey showed up the morning of the race, most likely due to the surplus of cameras, but Hazy was barely hearing his pre-race pep talk. He hadn’t even touched the asphalt yet and his heart was beating a hundred beats a minute.

“Ninth is redeemable if you get a good start in the first few laps,” Coach was telling him. “Get into that front pack and stay there for a few laps, conserve your energy in the middle laps and _keep count,_ for Christ’s sake. No one can beat your speed in a straight, so use that stretch right before the final turn to your advantage. You can do a lot of passing there if you strategize well. The ramp in sector one will be key, too.”

Hazy nodded along, making mental notes as Coach broke up the most technical parts of the track. He felt a gaze on the side of his neck and turned to see Wospy in the stands beside the rest of his team save Wispy and their coach. The dark-haired man actually _grinned_ at him. Hazy thanked god he’d already put on his helmet--better to cover flushed cheeks, after all.

Above them, Greg Woods began to introduce the track and the noise in the stands escalated. Coach Smokey slapped Hazy once on the back, pushing him toward the entrance of the track. “I’ve seen you leave some of the League’s best racers choking on dust, Hazy. Let me see it again.”

With those words the last in his ears, Hazy stepped onto the track.

\------

It was a ten lap race and Wospy spent at least nine of them looking at Hazy. And could he even be blamed? He was… captivating. Up seven spots from where he qualified, he passed up some of the best teams, including the _O’rangers on pole._ His speed on stretches and his control around corners were both unbelievable. Wospy couldn’t imagine there was anyone _not_ watching Hazy, really.

Unbelievable. He was unbelievable. 

He was jostled by Wuspy and Wespy on either side of him as they stood, hurrying to meet Wispy outside the track. He followed them a little dazedly, peering over the crowd and trying make out Hazy’s head of lilac hair, his little body disappearing in a throng of his teammates jumping around him and squeezing him around the middle and clapping his back. Every few seconds his team would split in the right way and Wospy would catch a glimpse of Hazy in the midst of them, grinning like a maniac. Wospy was a little dizzied by it.

“Hey,” Wespy snapped at him a little impatiently. “Eyes on your own team, Wosp.” 

Wospy would have apologized and looked away, but at that moment one of the Hazers shifted and there was Hazy, risen up on his tip toes and scanning the crowd-- for Wospy. He was always looking for Wospy. And when his eyes seemed to find him that grin on his face only split wider, and what the hell was Wospy supposed to do but smile back? That man was magnetic.

“Hey!” Wespy said again, and this time she smacked Wospy firmly in the back of the head. He winced and his gaze on the Hazers’ captain was broken.

\-------

 _This_ is what Hazy raced for.

Stepping off the track to his team hollering, Foggy hugging him around the middle and hoisting him off his feet and letting out his stupid battle cry. Coach Smokey smiling. The team hugging and grinning and yelling. He raced for victories like these.

And sometimes Hazy raced for the _rush,_ that burst of speed when he got a good launch off the belt or the passing zone after sector one, shouldering a racer out of the way on the last straight before the finish line, that battle with Starry for first place.

Speaking of Starry: Hazy craned his head to look for her over the heads of his team but couldn’t spot her. He would congratulate her if he did run into her before leaving the Speedway, he resolved. It’s true that Team Galactic was… well- a little spacey, but they were one of the mainstay teams. Not teams you want to get muddled in a rivalry with. Hazy, he thought, didn’t like politics nearly enough to be a team captain.

“Second place!” Foggy roared next to Hazy’s ear. “You jumped seven spots, you crazy son of a bitch!” Hazy started laughing at this, shoving Foggy away slightly, but Foggy deemed instead to pick Hazy up and sling him over his shoulder. “So much might in such a little body!” he was yelling, the rest of the team laughing too. “How do you move so fast, huh?”

“Put me down!” Hazy managed to choke out through his laughter. “Down!”

Foggy complied, keeping one arm steady on Hazy’s shoulder as he found his balance and still grinning wildly. Hazy chose then to tune back in, trying to make out the scoreboard above them.

Hazy whistled lowly as he saw Speedy’s name in fifth place. “That’s a comeback,” he acknowledged. From basement to fifth was no small feat, even if they hadn’t managed a podium spot.

As if on queue, then came the hollering of security guards and megaphones, calling for Starry, Hazy, and Snowy up on podium and ushering the rest of their teams back to their places. Coach Smokey clapped Hazy on the shoulder once more, smiling at him. “Nicely done, Hazy.”

Hazy thinks he might have actually glowed with pride.

Then he was being ushered over to podium and handed a silver metal, somewhere above him Greg Woods was ringing out over the megaphones and somewhere behind him Hazy swore he could feel the Midnight Wisps’ eyes on him, or maybe just one Wisp, but either way he’s sure it contributed to his breathlessness just as much as the victory.

\------

“We’re on the board, and that’s not nothing,” Wespy was telling Wispy, both of them cross-legged and facing each other on Wispy’s bed. Wospy and Waspy were sharing the couch, and Wespy was sprawled out across the chair in the corner.

“Don’t you dare hype me up for tenth spot,” Wispy said, glaring around the room. “If you congratulate tenth I’ll never make it into the top half of the board.”

“Oh, quit it,” Wuspy sighed, rolling his eyes. “We know you have your perfectionism thing going on, but we want to celebrate as a team, alright? We all know racing isn’t our strongest skill, and none of us came in here expecting to beat the Hazers or the Speeders or the O’rangers in a flat out race. Not without a miracle, at least. This is _their_ tournament, and I’m happy we get to race at all.”

“ _And,_ ” Waspy cut in, “it’s not like we’re in basement. We’re doing better than at least six other teams. That’s not nothing, either.”

Wispy scrubbed a hand down her face and Wospy felt a little pity for her. It’s easy to give reassurances when you weren’t the one who raced, but it’s different when it was you. It’s different when you were the one who was on that track--the pressure was different, the disappointment was a heavier thing. When she dropped her hands she looked at Wospy, and he smiled at her in return. Trying to say something like, _Hey, we’re here, and that’s pretty damn neat._

“Can we watch highlights now?” Wispy asked, smiling a little, finally.

This was their favorite post-race tradition: 

They’d gather up every comforter, blanket, and pillow in the room and throw them in a large, nest-like pile in the center of their space, in front of either the hotel’s television or Wispy’s laptop. Then all five team members would pile in together, a mess of limbs and warmth and family, and rewatch the race. This came with a mandatory gossip-session, because while the Wisp’s tried to distance themselves from the political game of the League as much as possible, they were all pretty hopeless when it came to petty drama.

On screen, Greg Woods started introducing the track and Wospy’s sights immediately centered in on where the racer’s stood. Hazy was bouncing on his toes, shaking out his hands and feet before the race. Wospy settled into whoever’s arm was wrapped around his shoulder--Wuspy’s, he thought--and waited for the race to start.

“Look at him go,” Wespy whistled a few seconds in. “Off the ramp and straight from ninth to second. That little dude’s _fast._ ”

She was talking about Hazy, of course. Who else?

“I would kill a man to get that team’s origin story,” Waspy said offhandedly, and Wuspy snickered at him.

“Didn’t they sort of throw everyone a bone with their announcement poster for MarbulaOne?” Wospy asked, narrowing his eyes at the start of lap two.

“A bunch of fans pinpointed Mount Huaze in the background, I guess?” Waspy said, eyes fixated on the screen. “Aw shit, you almost had em’ there, Mist-- and after people started talking about it the Hazer’s came out and said that Mount Huaze is near where they train? Or is where they train? Dunno, it’s hard to get a straight answer out of those fuckers.”

Waspy grunted as Wispy elbowed him in the side. “Language,” she scolded in her captain voice. Wospy grinned at the two of them, then whistled as Speedy jumped three spots with one launch off the ramp.

“Look at his control when he swerves Starry,” Wispy said, rewinding ten seconds and letting it play over again. “I want to know what drills they’re doing to give a man control like that.”

Wespy snorted at that. “Good luck.”

It’s true that the Speeder’s were oddly secretive about their training. They were standoffish and arrogant and downright mean, sometimes, but above all else they were secretive. They were worse than the Hazer’s, because the Hazer’s didn’t guard their training regimens like a treasure chest-- just their origins. The Speeder’s, well--they seemed like they had something to hide.

“I still think they’re doping,” Waspy said with a shrug. 

Wuspy snickered. “Turns out their top-secret training is that they don’t have any.”

Waspy continued. “The most innovative, totally confidential, and definitely illegal steroids on the market.”

“Knock it off, guys,” Wispy said sternly, but Wospy caught the smile at the edge of her tone. Not even fair Wispy cared enough to _really_ defend the Speeders.

“You can see the Hazers’ strategy,” Wospy pointed out during lap four. “See how Hazy fell back last lap? He could have made that back when he got off the ramp if he wanted to, but he stayed back, and he holds sixth for like, three laps or something.”

“Pacing,” Wispy agreed, squinting at the screen. “Damn. Good eye, Wosp.”

“See that?” Waspy pointed out. “Look how Starry got into first--that was just avoiding contact.”

“Collisions will fuck you up,” Wespy said, nodding.

“We’re barely on screen,” Wuspy complained then, turning over dramatically to bury his face into the nearest shoulder, which just so happpened to be Wospy’s.

“That’s what happens when you’re not in the front pack,” Wispy answered a little bitterly, lips pursed into a flat, white line.

Wospy reached around Waspy to pat his captain on the head. “Don’t you worry, Wisp. We’ll get em’ next time.”

Everyone dropped into silence during lap eight, watching Starry and Hazy battle for first. Wispy, who was too busy racing to see the other competitors before, looked particularly awed by it. “Goddamn, he’s fast,” she muttered, watching the race now with a glint in her eye. 

“Are we sure _they’re_ not doping?” Wuspy asked.

“Nah,” Wispy said, “they’ve always been fast. Remember them in speed events during the League?”

“True enough,” Wuspy acknowledged, then they all fell into silence for the last lap.

“Alright,” Wispy nodded when it was done, shutting her laptop before the podium ceremony, “I’m feeling humbled. Sorry for being a bad sport.”

Waspy tossed an arm around her shoulder. “Not an issue, Wisp.”

“Hey,” Wospy interjected, remembering something, “did Mary and Prim bring the rest of their team?”

Technically, the only team members that _needed_ to travel for Marbula One were the two representative team members and the team’s coach, but some teams elected to bring everyone anyway. Most teams who made that choice--the Hazers, Wisps, and O’rangers, for example--did it because their team members were close enough that they were stronger together than they were apart, but others--the Speeders, namely--did it purely for the intimidation factor. 

“Not that I know of,” Wuspy shrugged, “but none of them seem to like each other much anyway.”

“Really?” Wospy asked, only partially interested.

“Oh no,” Waspy interjected, “that team fucking _hates_ each other. The whole Momary merge during League really broke them up, I guess. Rima was supposed to compete but they put Mary in her place, and it’s been downhill from there.”

“Their fans aren’t much better,” Wispy added. “They’re all banned from Seven Seas Stadium after League Qualifiers that year for antagonizing Raspberry fans.”

“The team stopped talking after that until they joined Team Momo,” Wuspy said, “and that was messy too. Honestly, the whole team is just bad news.”

“They seem like they get along fine,” Wospy said thoughtfully, thinking back to when he’d seen the sisters hugging by the track earlier.

“Well, they _claim_ to be closer than ever now,” Wuspy said, “but I don’t think they have any choice but to present as a united front after last year.”

“They probably left the other three behind so they couldn’t risk fighting in front of cameras,” Wispy said thoughtfully.

“Whatever,” Wespy sighed, contributing to the conversation for the first time and stretching her arms above her head. “I can’t stand that fucking team. Can we drink?”

Wospy and Wispy exchanged an interested look at that, but neither commented. “Let’s drink,” Wispy agreed.

\------

Clementin knew he shouldn’t be doing this.

He knew it was toxic, and _dangerous,_ and extraordinarily stupid, but he didn’t want to stop.

“I can’t believe you passed me up today,” Clementin told the other racer. It was dark outside where they’d met. And chilly. 

“I can,” he responded, grinning rather devilishly. Clementin rolled his eyes, smacking the other racer on the shoulder.

“I hope it felt good,” Clementin told his opponent, shivering slightly. In response the other man raised his arm to wrap around Clementin’s shoulders, pulling him into his side. Clementin was silently thankful for the warmth. “Because that’ll be the last time you finish ahead of me this season.”

“Sure it will,” the man said indulgently, still smiling in that dangerous way. Clementin shivered again, although this time it had less to do with the cold and more to do with the predator he was currently nestled against. That man lowered his head, speaking into Clementin’s ear like he was telling a secret. “Come back to my hotel room?” he asked.

Clementin shuddered slightly, turned his head into the other man’s neck, and nodded. 

It was a question. It was always a choice, and Clementin always knew what the right decision was--no. But Clementin said yes.

Clementin always said yes.


	2. O'raceway

Wospy headed for Wispy almost on autopilot after qualifiers, peering up at the board in disbelief. No _way_ he’d done that--no god damned way.

“Pole!” Wispy shouted, throwing her arms around Wospy as soon as he came close enough.

“I’m on pole,” Wospy said a little dazedly, then started laughing.

Wispy was laughing too, absolutely gleeful, and Wospy searched for Hazy on habit alone. He was there beside Smoggy, grinning at his teammate proudly. As if on cue his eyes shifted to Wospy’s, and the pole-sitter could have sworn the pride in Hazy’s eyes didn’t fade in the slightest.

Mary looked at her name beside the sixteen on the scoreboard--last place--and tried not to give anything away on her face. Prim was already gone, had probably left the moment Mary bumped that hairpin and lost speed, and Mary wasn’t surprised. If the only way to make her sister proud was winning, Mary didn’t want to bother making her proud anymore--last place it was.

Rapidly stood beside her brother as Coach Quickly critiqued her run, Speedy’s arm around her shoulder and both their faces stony and impassive. She accepted the harsh criticism from Coach. Sixth place was not for winners, and the Savage Speeder’s were winners.

Clementin rubbed his sister’s shoulders as she turned the qualifiers over and over in her head. _Fifteenth on her home track._ God dammit.

Hazy looked at Wospy and smiled.

\------

Race day came with more pressure than Wospy was accustomed to. Coach Wyspy stood with him by the track entrance, talking him through the O’raceway and breaking down the most technical areas for him. In the corner of his eye he could see Smoggy getting his own peptalk, but Hazy was nowhere to be seen. Already with the rest of his team, Wospy guessed. He’d be watching.

Above him, Greg Woods started announcing the track--the racer’s cue to get into position. Wospy stood at pole and took a second to marvel at how glorious the track looked without a single racer in front of him.

“Good luck,” someone said, and Wospy turned to Smoggy just behind him. He seemed sincere, although Wospy couldn’t really be surprised by that. Hazy held his team above petty rivalries, for the most part. Wospy admired that.

“You too,” Wospy returned, smiling through the adrenaline beating at his throat, then the lights went on and Wospy turned forward.

It was time to race.

\------

Hazy was too amped up to sit down, even with Misty tugging at his sleeve.

“You’re not tall enough to see any better standing up than sitting down,” she pointed out, but Hazy just shook her off. He _felt_ like he could see better this way, and that was all that mattered. He watched as, on track, Wospy turned to say something to Smoggy. It seemed friendly, and Hazy caught a smile flashed between the two of them before Wospy faced forward.

“Lights are on…” Greg Woods announced somewhere above their heads, and Hazy stiffened. “And we’re rolling!”

The racers were barely around the first bend before the Hazers and every fan there in support of them erupted. Smoggy had taken first immediately, Wospy falling behind him into second. Hazy’s gaze bounced between the two racers as they entered the sand section, both exiting it cleanly. Hazy bit his lip as Billy intercepted Wospy, pushing him back into third, but Smoggy stayed clear. 

Misty was shouting her ear off beside him. “ _That’s my boy, Smog! Show em’ up, Smoggy!”_

By the end up lap one Rapidly had already risen from middle of the pack to third, knocking Wospy back to fourth. “The Speeders are insane,” Cloudy commented, and Hazy nodded in agreement, then winced as Rapidly shouldered Smoggy hard on their way off the belt.

“And brutal,” he added. Smoggy managed to shake Rapidly off, pulling ahead. As they entered the sand section Billy pulled ahead of Rapidly and intercepted Smoggy. Beside Hazy, Misty cursed. 

“Block,” Hazy urged under his breath as Rapidly closed in on Smoggy from behind on the pit straight, and it seemed like Smoggy tried to, but Rapidly, with that inhuman control, swerved neatly around him and pulled ahead for the final turn.

“Fuck!” Cloudy cursed.

“This is only lap three,” Hazy pointed out evenly as Wospy hit the belt behind Smoggy, “plenty of time to make it up.”

Billy off the belt, followed by Rapidly, then Smoggy, and then--

Time stopped.

Greg Woods cut off mid-sentence in an exclamation, “Wospy has fallen off the conveyor belt!”

Hazy didn’t think, he was already standing, just started pushing through the stands and down to the bottom of the belt. Cloudy--or maybe Misty--reached for his elbow, but he shook them off, trying to keep an eye on Wospy where he fell. He wasn’t moving. Why wasn’t he moving?

Greg was still talking. _A potentially dangerous situation down at the conveyor belt…_ but Hazy wasn’t listening. This time when someone caught his elbow Hazy couldn’t break the grasp. He turned to see security holding him back.

“I’m Hazy,” he said, swirling back to keep an eye on Wospy. _No movement._ “Hey! I’m _captain,_ let me go!” He jerked again, but security wasn’t budging.

“The race is still active,” the man said evenly. “No one is allowed on track.”

“He’s _hurt!_ ” Hazy shouted, jerking again, but the man wasn’t letting him loose and now there was a second security guard on his other side, and _Wospy still wasn’t moving,_ and-

Hazy’s gaze snapped up as Billy came around the corner further up the straight, Rapidly a few lengths behind and Smoggy close behind her. Hazy saw the exact moment that Rapidly registered what had happened, registered Wospy’s body lying still on the side of the track. She stuttered, and Smoggy took the opportunity to swerve her and pull ahead in pursuit of Billy, Rezzy and Bolt quickly following suit. Hazy stilled momentarily as Rapidly slowed. 

_Why was she hesitating?_

\--------

Wospy’s world was spinning.

Distantly he saw racers passing, but he couldn’t quite find the strength to move after them. Somewhere above him Greg Woods was saying something about safety being let out on the track.

 _Fuck,_ had he fallen? He _hurt._

Then someone was grabbing his shoulder. Red glove. Red. _Rapidly?_

“Get up, dammit!” the woman said. She had two faces. That wasn’t right. “ _Up!_ ” she ordered again, dragging Smoggy to his feet. As soon as he was standing the world began to refocus itself in increments.

“Thanks,” he said dazedly, not entirely sure what had just happened. There were other teams coming up behind them.

“Finish your race,” she told him, eyes sharp and absolutely unforgiving. Smoggy had no choice but to nod, and then Rapidly was gone. He blinked once more, trying to steady himself, and over a sea of onlookers saw Hazy being held by two security guards, staring Wospy down like he was his own team. 

_Move,_ Wospy thought to himself. _Finish your race._

And so Wospy did.

\-------

After race was a shit show, to say the least. 

Paramedics were waiting right outside the track for Wospy, who in Hazy’s opinion was lucky to have made it off the track on his own two feet at all.

Hazy- well. Hazy was furious.

“You didn’t stop the goddamn race!” he yelled, face-to-face with the race officials where he’d tracked them down as soon as the last lap was up. “A man is hospitalized after falling from _two storeys_ and you let him finish the damn race!”

“He was mobile,” one of the officials started to defend.

“And now he’s being loaded into the back of an ambulance!” Hazy spit. “It’s your job to make tough calls, and you _should have pulled him._ ”

Someone touched his shoulder--one of his teammates, probably--but he shook them off. “And while we’re talking about your _jobs_ , let’s discuss why he fell in the first place. Where are your safety regulations with that belt? There have been too many close calls this season, and we’re two races in. It’s absolutely unacceptable. You’ll be lucky not to be sued!”

“Hazy!” someone said, and he only froze when he recognized the voice as Wispy’s. He could tell she’d been crying, and although she looked kindly at Hazy there was a sharp undercurrent of fury underneath it meant for people other than him. “Thank you. I’ve got it from here.”

“Right.” Hazy took a deep breath, levelled one more furious look at the officials, and stepped away. 

He looked at the standings almost as an afterthought as he made his way back to his team, and saw that Hazers were in first overall. Green Ducks in second, Savage Speeders in third, and the Wisps in fourteenth.

When he reached his team they wisely chose not to comment on Hazy’s involvement. Smoggy, despite taking third, looked more shaken up than anything. All of the racers did, really. There was a stark grimness as they watched the ambulance pull out of the stadium, sirens blaring.

“That was…” Smoggy started but didn’t finish.

“Weird,” Misty filled in for him. “Sorry- did Rapidly _stop?_ ”

“Yeah,” Hazy said, gathering his bearings. He was captain and his team was shaken--now wasn’t the time to let emotions get the best of him. “Seemed like it, didn’t it?”

“That’s… shockingly out of character.”

“Telling him to finish the race after falling down two storeys isn’t, though,” Hazy remarked a little bitterly.

“Yeah, what the fuck was that?” Smoggy asked. “Just a yellow flag? That was a weird, right?”

“It was weird,” Hazy agreed. “You raced well though,” he added with a smile.

Smoggy smiled back. “Thanks, Haze.”

“And we’re in first,” Foggy grinned.

“Goddamn,” Smoggy agreed.

\------

“Hey! I’m a goddamn worldwide champion!” Wospy shouted into the hallway. “Let me out!”

No one was listening to him. He didn’t know where the goddamn doctor was, either.

“Wospy, will you shut the hell up?” he heard, and then Wispy and Coach were standing in the doorway.

“Thank christ,” Wospy exhaled in relief at the sight of them. “You’ve come to take me back, right? And did someone get a picture of the standings?”

“Slow down, turbo,” Wispy sighed, looking at him with clear concern.

Coach, on the other hand. 

“What the _fuck_ were you thinking, finishing the race after a fall like that?”

“They didn’t call red,” Wospy defended, shrinking back into the sheets a little.

“This racing company has _proved_ that they don’t have a spare fuck to give for you racers! Of course they didn’t call a red! _You_ are the one who has to make those decisions for yourself, and you _should have stepped down.”_

Wospy looked down then, feeling ashamed. “Rapidly told me to finish,” he said softly.

“ _Rapidly_ has plenty to gain from you injuring yourself and throwing your season away,” Coach retorted, and Wospy flinched. That was… an admittedly true statement.

Coach sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose, and Wispy chose then to speak up. “They’re keeping you overnight and you’re going to be on painkillers for a few days, plus they want you on a week of bedrest, but we’ll be able to travel tomorrow.”

“A _week?”_ Wospy explained, pushing himself to sitting and pointedly ignoring the way the room spun. “I can’t take a week off of training, are you kidding?”

“You can and you will,” Coach Wyspy said firmly, “or I’ll have Wespy on the track in two weeks instead of you.”

Wospy bit his tongue at that, looking helplessly at Wispy. His captain just shrugged pityingly. “I’m sorry, Wosp. They should have called a red flag.”

 _But they didn’t,_ Wospy finished in his head, _and you raced anyway._

“Standings,” he said shortly, and Wispy came to sit by his bedside, pulling out her phone.

“We’ll be fine here, Coach,” she promised, and Coach Wyspy nodded.

“I’ll be back in the morning for your discharge,” she said shortly, then she was gone.

Wospy turned his attention to Wispy, bracing himself. “Let’s see the damage, then.”

Wispy pulled up a picture she’d taken of the race results, which Wospy hadn’t been able to catch before the medics had ushered him out, and handed Wospy the phone. Smoggy had taken third. Rapidly had somehow managed to stop, get Wospy up, _and_ recover back to second place. Figures--she would never make a risk like stopping unless it was completely calculated. That’s just how the Speeders operated. 

Wospy made a face at his standing in sixteenth, and the bright yellow ‘+1 Lap’ beside it.

“Poor Mary,” Wispy said softly, pointing out her name in the fifteenth spot. “Prim wouldn’t even look at her after the race, it was awful.”

“Mary took _last?”_ Wospy asked, partly in shock. Team Primary generally performed well.

“Technically _you_ took last,” Wispy said fairly, and Wospy rolled his eyes in response, “but discounting you, yes. I feel a bit bad for her, actually.”

“I always feel bad for players on the really competitive teams when they choke,” Wospy said. “I can’t imagine being afraid of my own team rejecting me for a bad performance.”

“Me either,” Wispy sighed, shaking her head. “Oh, here’s overall standings.”

She swiped over to the next photo and Wospy tried his best to ignore the red arrow signifying four dropped spots next to the Midnight Wisps, instead opting to study the top five. He whistled lowly--the Hazers had knocked Team Galactic right out of champion’s position. The Speeders were in third--something in Wospy twinged a little at that.

“Do you think Rapidly was trying to get me hurt?” he asked Wispy, switching off her phone.

Wispy seemed to consider this. “It… seems the most in character explanation for her, doesn’t it?”

Wispy nodded at that. “I guess so.” He paused. Bit his lip. “Still sucks, though. I forget, sometimes, that we aren’t all friends.”

Wispy dropped her head to Wospy’s shoulder. “Sorry, Wosp.”

He lifted his hand to pat her head just as a nurse came bustling into the room, humming cheerily and no doubt bearing morphine.

\------

Cloudy whistled lowly where she was draped across Hazy’s bed, phone held above her face and scrolling through Twitter. The entire team had gathered in Hazy and Smoggy’s room after the race. “It’s pretty ugly,” Cloudy commented, scrolling through the Marbula One account’s recent replies. “Wisp fans are _pissed.”_

“As they should be,” Hazy said. “ _I’m_ pissed, and I’m not even a Wisp fan.”

Smoggy snorted. “Yes you are,” he said with a grin. Hazy elbowed him in the ribs.

“Coach Wyspy put out a statement,” Cloudy said, propping herself up on her elbows and squinting at her phone. “Goddamn notes app screenshots,” she muttered, “my eyes aren’t good enough for this.”

“I’ve got it,” Misty said, then started reading aloud. “‘The team wishes to thank all of our supporters for their concern over Wospy’s injury at the O’raceway today. Wospy is currently hospitalized and will be held overnight to ensure stability, but is expected to make a full recovery and be back in racing condition according to schedule. The Wisps are in contact with the Marble League, and discussions about safety regulations on the belt are taking place. Thank you again for your endless support, hashtag will of the Wisps.’ Damn, that’s all? The League should be paying Wospy’s medical bills at the very least.”

Hazy had pulled out his phone and was scrolling through the replies. “Yeah, fans seem to agree with you.”

Misty read aloud, “‘If the Wisps payed Momomomo’s medical bills after the collision event, the O’rangers should be paying for Wospy’s injury on their own track.’ That’s a good point, actually… ‘Wospy will recover and show up at race four, hashtag fear the night.’”

Cloudy spoke up. “Listen to this: ‘Why isn’t the League more concerned about the faulty conveyor belt? Racer’s have been struggling with the belt all season and no one seems to want to fix it.’ I mean, shit.”

“I don’t know about y’all,” Foggy announced, “but I’d be scared as fuck to race on that belt after seeing Wospy eat it.”

Hazy shot him a look. “Thanks, Fog,” he said dryly.

“No, he’s right,” Misty said thoughtfully. “I’m surprised there hasn’t been more backlash from racers after today.”

“There’s always more than we know going on behind the scenes,” Hazy said fairly. “Either way, I hope the company is taking heat for this.”

“They will be,” Smoggy said through a yawn. 

“Alright,” Hazy said, clapping. “I’m kicking you guys out so Smog can get some sleep. Check out is at ten tomorrow, so be ready by then.”

“Aye aye, Cap,” Foggy grumbled, rolling off the bed and landing in a heap on the floor. Misty grabbed him by the elbow and hauled him to his feet and toward the door.

“Night, boys,” she called, Cloudy following the two out and echoing a goodnight as well.

Hazy moved on to the company’s main Twitter page, but they hadn’t posted since their O’raceway announcement. “Damn them,” he muttered, tossing his phone to the side and rubbing at his eyes.

“Get some sleep,” Smoggy sighed, tugging off his shirt and climbing into his own bed. “Today was too much excitement.”

“Sure,” Hazy agreed, but it took him hours to fall asleep, and when he finally succeeded he dreamt of Wospy, motionless on the side of the track and never stirring at all.

\------

Wospy woke up early and tossed, turned, and grumbled for the next four hours, waiting for his coach and captain to come collect him. When they finally showed the doctor sent the three of them on their way with a prescription for painkillers and a warning to rest as much as possible. Wospy sort of wanted to punch him.

Wuspy, Wespy, and Waspy were waiting outside by the team’s van. They cheered loudly when Wospy exited the building, turning quite a few heads. Wospy tried not to smile and almost succeeded.

“Alright, guys. That’s enough,” he said, waving them down as he came closer. “We have a plane to catch.”

“No,” Coach corrected, “we have a prescription to fill. _Then_ we have a plane to catch.” Wospy groaned a bit at this, but conceded.

“It’s a week, Wosp,” Waspy assured him. “You won’t lose all your strength in a week. You’re lucky not to be out for the season, honestly.”

“You’re right,” Wospy agreed with some reluctance. “Sorry for moping.”

“Falling twenty feet earns you the right to mope, I think,” Wespy said. “Just don’t be difficult when Wuspy insists on spoon feeding you.”

Wuspy nodded like this checked out and Wospy snorted. All in all, he thought, it could have been a lot worse.

\------

The morning after the Hazers had settled into their newest hotel Hazy was woken by a knock at the door. Smoggy, still nestled firmly within the hotel sheets, let out a low grumble and rolled over. Hazy rolled his eyes but dragged himself out of his own bed and toward the door, stopping in surprise at the sight of Wispy as he pulled it open. The Wisp’s captain had dark circles under her eyes and looked dead on her feet, but she perked up immediately at the sight of Hazy. 

“Hi!”

“Um-” Hazy blinked. “Hi, Wispy. Is everything alright? Are you staying here?”

“We are, yeah,” Wispy smiled a little weakly. “Sorry if I’m intruding, I just wanted to thank you for getting so involved after Wospy’s accident. Teams that score high are usually better listened to, and your team is one of those. Ours- well. It’s harder for us to get our voice in this season, is all, so we appreciate it.”

“Oh,” Hazy said lamely, scratching the back of his neck. “It was nothing, really. I mean, we all saw that their call was bullshit.”

“Still.” Wispy shrugged.

“How is he?” Hazy asked almost without meaning to.

“Good!” Wispy nodded, though she looked more like she was trying to convince herself. “He’s good,” she repeated. “A little looped on painkillers and pissed to be on bedrest, but he’s going to be fine.”

“Happy to hear it,” Hazy said, and meant it.

“I was actually going to offer-” Wispy started a tad awkwardly. “I mean, if you wanted to, of course- I was going to ask if you wanted to come talk to him. He could use some company other than the team, you know. Also, Wuspy showed him the leaked footage of you telling off the race officials and I think he found it kind of sweet.” She trailed off then, looking unsure.

Wospy… unnerved Hazy. It was something about him that threw Hazy off balance and left him scrabbling for purchase, something about Wospy that left Hazy _wanting,_ and that was a dangerous thing. Hazy had only ever _wanted_ when it was wanting to win, and what Wospy made Hazy feel was deeper than that. He’d done a damn good job avoiding the man up to this point, but Wispy was standing awkwardly in the doorway and Wospy was injured and apparently there was a video of Hazy defending him being spread across the internet by the second, so he figured he didn’t have much of a choice this time.

“I’d love to,” Hazy said without thinking it through, but even he wasn’t sure if that was true.

“Oh,” Wispy said, seeming almost surprised, then she grinned. “Good! Wospy will be glad to hear it. You can swing by whenever today, if you want to. Room 324.”

“Sure,” Hazy agreed. _Too late to back out now,_ he thought. “Tell him I’ll come by.”

“Okay!” Wispy said, nodding. “I will! Thanks again, Hazy.”

“Sure thing,” the Hazers’ captain smiled, and Wispy was hurrying down the hallway.

Well then.

Later, Hazy walked into the connected room to find Cloudy, Misty, and Foggy crowded together on one of the beds, staring intently at Misty’s phone. “Whipped,” Foggy snickered, then groaned in complaint as Misty locked her phone, smiling innocently up at their captain in the doorway.

“Haze,” she said sweetly. “How’d you sleep?”

Hazy narrowed his eyes. “Fine…” he said slowly. “What’s that you were watching?”

Cloudy said ‘New Girl’ at the same time Misty said ‘Vines’. 

Foggy laughed at them, flopping backwards to grin at the ceiling. “We were watching you defend your boyfriend.”

Hazy groaned, dropping his face into his hands. All three of them laughed, then. “Let me see it,” he grumbled.

Misty unlocked her phone and handed it over indulgently. A Wisp fan account (@fearthenight_wisps) had posted the video, low quality and clearly shot from a fan’s cellphone. It picked up halfway through Hazy’s rant-- _It’s your job to make tough calls, and you should have pulled him!--_ and cut off when Wispy stepped in, which was only mildly frustrating. Hazy cringed a little, scrolling through to read the quote tweets.

_mans made some points though_

_About time someone stood up to the fucking officials_

_hazy’s mad as fuck LMFAOOO_

Hazy froze at the next one: 

_overprotective bfs <3 _

“Uh-” he said.

“What’s up?” Cloudy asked distractedly. She’d already grown bored, lying with her head on Foggy’s stomach and scrolling through her own phone.

Hazy clicked on the user and skimmed through their account. Sure enough, a good portion of their tweets were dedicated to Hazy and Wospy. There were fancams and edits of them, and ‘#Wazy’ was written clearly in their bio.

“Have you seen this?” Hazy asked, handing Misty’s phone back to her.

She squinted at the screen. “What, shipping?”

“No-” Hazy huffed. “Shipping me and Wospy, specifically.”

Shipping players was something pretty common amongst fans, actually. Most teams at least tolerated it if they didn’t actively encourage it, purely because it was good for morale, but Hazy had never really looked too deeply into it. Misty and Hazy had had a good laugh together when #Mazy trended last year, but aside from that, fan ships had never really been on Hazy’s radar. This was new to him.

Foggy peered at Hazy, craning his head up from the pillow. “That one’s been going around for awhile, Haze. I thought that was why you’re so weird around Wospy?”

Hazy quite frankly had no idea how to respond to that. Hazy was just ‘weird around Wospy’, period.

“Speaking of Wospy,” he said, deciding the best course of action was a subject change, “I’m going to see him a bit later. The whole team is staying at this hotel, I think.”

“Oh,” Misty said, eyes widening. 

“ _Oh,_ ” Cloudy repeated, grinning.

“Okay- _no,_ don’t make those faces.” Hazy looked between the two of them pointedly. “Get rid of the faces.”

\------

Wospy was due for painkillers, but he was waiting. If Hazy actually came to see him today--Wospy still wasn’t entirely convinced that Wispy hadn’t made it up--he didn’t want to be looped on meds. 

Mostly, Wospy was bored. He’d done nothing all day but refresh his Twitter and Tumblr feeds and the only people he’d talked to were Wispy and Wuspy. He was _bored,_ and well, Hazy could easily fix that. Just by showing. Wospy had never once looked at Hazy and been bored.

When a knock on their door did finally come Wuspy was the one who answered. Wospy craned his neck, trying to see around the corner and to the doorway, but they were just out of view. He could make out a quiet exchange between them, then Wuspy called, “I’ll be back in a while, Wosp,” and the sound of a door closing.

Then, lo and behold, Hazy was standing awkwardly at the foot of Wospy’s bed.

“Hi,” Wospy said quietly, like he was worried he’d spook him. 

Hazy shifted his weight from one foot to the others, fidgeting with his fingers in front of him. “Hi,” he returned, then cleared his throat. “Um- where should I…?”

“Oh,” Wospy said, pushing himself up into a sitting position, because like hell he was going to have his first real conversation with Hazy like a hospital patient, “just pull that chair over.”

Wospy watched Hazy grab the desk chair and tug it over to sit next to the bed, then commented, “You look like you’re about to bolt.” Hazy’s cheeks actually went a little red at this, and Wospy watched the color change in idle fascination. Cute. 

“Nothing like that,” Hazy said, smiling for the first time since he’d entered the room. “How are you feeling, though?”

“Good!” Wospy said too quickly, then amended, “I’m feeling okay, actually. They’ve got me on pain meds for the next two days, which helps.”

Hazy’s face scrunched up in this horribly endearing way. “You’re in pain?”

“Not much,” Wospy assured, and Hazy’s face relaxed a bit. “I’ll be fine once some of the bruising mellows out.”

Hazy’s lips pursed into a flat line at this. “It shouldn’t have happened at all.”

“No,” Wospy agreed.

“You shouldn’t have kept racing, either,” Hazy said pointedly, seeming torn between scolding Wospy for his recklessness and actual concern. “Dummy.”

“Probably not, huh?” Wospy agreed again, then he grinned a little crookedly at Hazy. Hazy ducked his head the slightest bit, lilac hair coming down to cover his face like a shield. “I appreciate all of your concern, though.”

Hazy must have known he’d seen the video, Wospy thought, because his face flushed spectacularly at the allusion to it. “It was… nothing. I didn’t do enough, really.”

Wospy thought about the backlash he’d seen on social media in the two days since Hazy’s video had blown up. Hazy was the player to voice everyone’s concerns at the moment, and it was like he’d opened the floodgates with that clip. Racers, coaches, fans, sports commentators, safety officials, people in and out of the League-- everyone had something to say about that damn conveyor belt, and everyone had something to say about how the League had handled Wospy’s accident.

“You did plenty,” Wospy promised Hazy. “So much.”

“Anyone decent would have done the same,” Hazy said dismissively, but Wospy shook his head.

“You’re the only one who did.”

Hazy dropped his head at that, studying his fingers as they pulled at each other on his lap. “I’m just glad you’re okay,” he said softly, almost to his hands.

“Give me a week off and I’ll be good as new,” Wospy promised, overwhelmed with the sudden urge he had to _comfort._ Wospy was not one for comforting, but he wanted to with Hazy. Wospy wasn’t much of a hugger, either, but he found there wasn’t anything in that moment that he wanted to do more.

The door opened without warning and both men startled. Standing there was Coach Wyspy, looking at Hazy in slight surprise. Then she shook her head, apparently elected not to comment, and turned toward Wospy. “I just got off the phone with the head of Marbula One,” she said. “They’re paying your medical bills in full.”

Wospy blinked, eyes flicking to Hazy then back to his coach. “That’s… generous of them.”

“It’s a PR move,” Coach Wyspy snorted, hoisting herself up to sit on the desk. “They requested that you put out a statement about it.”

“Absolutely not,” Wospy said at the same moment Hazy said, “Do not fucking do that.” They stared at each other for a moment before Hazy broke the contact.

“You don’t owe them any favors,” Hazy continued, looking away.

Coach Wyspy regarded Hazy for a moment with interest, then shrugged in assent. “I agree. Whatever damage this has done to their image, it’s their job to fix, not ours. _Especially_ not yours,” she said pointedly at Wospy.

“Yes ma’am,” he nodded.

The Wisp’s coach turned her attention to Hazy again, then. Rather than shrinking back as most would under her gaze he straightened, meeting her head on. Wospy felt a twinge of fondness at that. “We appreciate your part in this,” she said.

Wospy had the impression that Hazy had never been looking for a ‘part in this’ at all, but still he nodded and smiled back at the woman across from them. “The pleasure was mine.”


End file.
